


La Libération

by hermionesmydawg



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Feminization, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Spies & Secret Agents, Story within a Story, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 03:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13402596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionesmydawg/pseuds/hermionesmydawg
Summary: All the blood rushed to Bucky’s face. An uncharacteristic blush from him. “I don’t recall that story. You know, I do have well-documented memory problems.”Natasha tsked. “He knows the story.”“He does,” Steve mused. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell it.”“Okay,” Bucky agreed quickly.“I’ll just tell it,” Steve said. “It was-““August,” Bucky interrupted, shooting a scowl at Steve. “August of ‘44, the liberation of Paris. And I was fucking miserable.”





	La Libération

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all remember the episode of FRIENDS with the backpacking in Europe story that Joey tells...it's so charismatic and soft that it guarantees the teller will have sex? Well, this is kind of like that, except it's not soft or charismatic at all. :D

“I feel that in these uncertain times we’re living in,” Natasha announced one evening, after devouring filet mignon and asparagus and a hefty amount of red wine, “we need to discuss something important.”   
  
“The persecution and intended criminalization of homosexuality by right extremists?” Bucky asked.   
  
“That’s important too, but no.”   
  
Sam chimed in. “Institutionalized racism and police brutality?”   
  
Natasha winced. “Also important, but we’ll save that for next time.”   
  
Steve set his glass down like he knew all the answers. “Obviously it’s the #metoo movement and the historical treatment of women as second class citizens, even though none of us would be here at all without them.”   
  
“Here, here,” Bucky and Sam spoke in unison. Some days they were just in sync with each other. It drove Steve crazy, therefore, it delighted them.   
  
“Guys,” Natasha sighed. “The correct answer is: punching Nazis.”   
  
Sam shook his head. “That’s so two years ago.”   
  
“Or seventy-two years ago,” Bucky said.   
  
“That is my point!” Natasha exclaimed. “I want to hear some war stories, something other than the same old ‘ _ hey, remember those aliens? bitchin _ ’ stories.”   
  
“I see.” Steve smiled. “I’m sorry, that’s all classified.”   
  
Natasha’s eyes flashed. “I will punch you right in your classified mouth with that bullshit.”   
  
Steve curled his finger at her, like. Bring it on.   
  
Bucky did always love when the gang was all together. Never a dull moment. “I’m sure we have something to share, right Steve?” He smiled innocently. “The costume fiasco of ‘43? The mystery of The Real Frenchman? What goes up, must come down?”   
  
“The Twins,” Steve suggested with a mischievous grin.   
  
That bastard. All the blood rushed to Bucky’s face. An uncharacteristic blush from him, damn. “I don’t recall that story. You know, I do have well-documented memory problems.”   
  
Natasha tsked. “He knows the story.”   
  
“Definitely,” Sam said. “Look at his face. It’s either a really, really good story or a really, really  _ bad _ story.”   
  
“Or both,” Steve mused. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell it.”   
  
“Okay,” Bucky agreed quickly.   
  
“I’ll just tell it,” Steve said. “It was-“   
  
“August,” Bucky interrupted, shooting a scowl at Steve. “August of ‘44, the liberation of Paris. And I was fucking miserable.”

  
  
*****

  
  
They were cramped in a tight public WC, with noise barreling in on them from all four sides. That was the thing about city missions versus Hydra bases in the middle of nowhere - at least the wilderness gave them the space to think about the ridiculous shit they did.   
  
“Will you be still?” A lilting British voice fussed at Bucky. And he stilled because yes, he could be still. Deadly still. He just felt...squirmy.   
  
See, the “they” crammed into the bathroom wasn’t the usual “they” he found himself getting into trouble with. This “they” was himself and the one, the only Agent Margaret Carter.   
  
“You really are quite pretty,” she said as she tended to the false curls dangling by his chin. “I see why you were chosen to accompany me today.”   
  
Bucky mumbled, “Thanks,” and stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t determine if it was the close quarters or the fact she was playing dress-up with him that stirred a reaction in his knickers, but goddammit. This was  _ not _ good.   
  
Next came the make-up - just a touch on the eyes, a rosy blush, and Peggy’s own signature red lipstick. His feelings on the subject were complicated, something he’d rather deal with later. Much later.   
  
“Èdith Bocuse,” she reminded him, “is set to meet with Choltitz in just under five hours. If intel is to be believed, she will want to do some light shopping and dining while she is in the city.”   
  
“Who doesn’t need a girl’s day out before potentially fucking up an entire country’s military plans?”   
  
Peggy smiled and forced Bucky’s lips into a softer pout. “I know I do.”   
  
Èdith Bocuse was French but defected to Hydra - two things going against her that Bucky didn’t like. She was also sent to personally deliver a message from Hydra to Dietrich von Choltitz, the commander of the German garrison and military governor of Paris. He was set to surrender the next morning, unless Hydra had some new power play. That -  _ that _ was what he and Peggy had to prevent.   
  
They, this ordinarily odd duo, drew no attention to themselves as they walked arm in arm through the streets of Paris. Sisters obviously, possibly even twins, day-shopping and lamenting over their hope that the sign over the  _ Soldatenkaffee Madeleine _ would soon read  _ Cafe du Madeleine _ or that swastikas would no longer hang below the awning of the local cinema.   
  
The rest of France was under Allied control. They just had to not fuck up this one last thing.   
  
“ _ Beau temps que nous avons aujourd’hui _ ,” Peggy said. Lovely weather.   
  
“ _ Oui, je suppose que c’est _ ,” Bucky replied, trying his best to not only speak French but to do it in a higher pitched voice. “ _ Si vos testicules ne sont pas collés à votre trou du cul _ .”   
  
Peggy snorted. It endeared her to him, even if his balls  _ were _ glued to his asshole.   
  
“He’s close to us, isn’t he?” Peggy asked.   
  
There was only one He where they were concerned, a name that needn’t ever be spoken. “Always,” Bucky murmured.   
  
“Where, you think?”   
  
“The best line of sight,” Bucky hummed. “Knowing him, he can’t take his eyes off either one of us right now.”   
  
Peggy laughed as they walked past Hôtel Meurice, with its guards still standing watch for one more day.

  
  
*****

  
  
“You’re embellishing,” Steve accused.   
  
“I’m setting the scene. And seriously, I couldn’t find my balls for days.”   
  
Steve met his eyes with a steely gaze that may have worked on others, but not him. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”   
  
Bucky stuck out his tongue and carried on with his tale.

  
  
*****

  
  
Paris was not what it used to be. One day maybe it would return to its full strength and beauty. For now there was nary a place to shop for fine goods, as it was all allocated to the Germans. Mademoiselle Bucose, with her perfectly styled dark hair and bright skin, was having a bitch of a time on her afternoon of luxury and treachery.   
  
Peggy and Bucky kept a safe distance from her and her company, a rather brutish looking man with pox marks on his face. But the longer they followed her trail, the more suspicious they would become.   
  
Thankfully she soon found her way to the Louvre. Of course that’s where her afternoon would end. Not a store with a dressing room where it’d be easy to corner someone in privacy. It would have to be one of the most well known museums in the goddamn world.   
  
There was no Mona Lisa, no  _ Lady Liberté _ . Only a few statues and works of art stolen by the Nazis. For the first time that day, Peggy and Bucky split to go their separate ways - him to the paid washroom, and her to track down Èdith.   
  
Bucky slapped himself across the face and trickled some water in his eyes. Certain that he looked a holy mess, he waited for them. And they came, speaking in a flurry of French as Peggy ushered the woman into the washroom.   
  
“ _ Mon amie, elle est très en colère _ ,” Peggy said, just before shoving Èdith into Bucky’s arms.   
  
“ _ Arrêtez! _ ” Èdith hissed, then gasped in horror. “You are men!”   
  
“ _ Pas de tout. _ ” Wrapping an arm around the woman’s neck, Peggy pulled her flush against her body. “That’s a real gun in my pocket, darling.”   
  
“ _ Qu’est-ce _ -“   
  
Bucky clamped a hand over Èdith’s mouth to shut her up and began undressing her as mechanically as possible. A job was a job was a job. Until he got a real good look at Èdith, anyway.   
  
Never in Bucky’s life had he been more frustrated to see small tits.   
  
“Shit!” he hissed. “She’s flat as a board! You’ll never fit in this dress.”   
  
“Then do your duty,” Peggy hissed back.   
  
“Goddammit.” As if fitting into one dress a day wasn’t bad enough. Lucky for him, Èdith had slender hips as well.   
  
Bucky wiped his face and straightened his wig before plucking the sunglasses off of Èdith’s (now unconscious) face. He stepped over the women and was out the door, falling in line with Monsieur Pox Marks to head back to Hôtel Meurice. The man didn’t even give him a second look.   
  
Some say a lady never takes charge, but Bucky ain’t no lady. Within minutes of coming face to face with Dietrich von Choltitz, he’d gotten him alone in his room at the hotel.   
  
_ I could just kill him _ , Bucky thought. That wasn’t the plan, the mission, but wouldn’t the world benefit from one less Nazi?   
  
“You are more lovely than I remember,” Cholitz said, his German accent heavy. The man’s voice lingered in Bucky’s mind too long before he took control of himself. His past. His present.   
  
“Flattery will get you anywhere,” he flirted, licking his waxy red lips in invitation.   
  
Bucky thought of anything but his current situation as he allowed this pathetic excuse for a man to kiss him and push him to the bed. Like, for example, how did he not notice that Bucky was a man? Had this beast kissed so few women in his day that couldn’t tell the difference? Or did he just not care? Maybe he liked it. Always possible.    
  
Bucky’s face was attractive but not truly feminine - it was too smooth, shaved neatly just a few hours before. A woman’s face was smooth, but softer, covered in wispy little hairs.    
  
Goddamn that Peggy Carter and her big, beautiful tits. It should be her here right now.   
  
Right as Cholitz decided to get handsy, Bucky figured he’d played nice for long enough. He shied away from the affection, whispering, “I’m only supposed to be here for a few minutes.”   
  
Cholitz pouted, and for that Bucky was grateful. Any other response probably would have ended in murder, and  _ not _ Bucky’s. A dead German garrison would be a little noticeable. Besides, he was just here to deliver a message, and now was the time to do it.   
  
“Surrender in ze morning, governor,” Bucky purred into the ear of Cholitz. “Hydra will reward your loyalty.”   
  
“ _ Ja, fräulein _ ,” the governor sighed. “Will I see you again?”   
  
“Oui monsieur. I look forward to the next time I see your face.” Bucky bit his tongue to avoid adding, “Hopefully beaten to a pulp, you fucking Nazi bastard.”   
  
With that promise, he slid as gracefully as he could off the bed and immediately headed to their rendezvous point via the worker’s entrance of the hotel. He only stopped for one moment to retch into a waste can. If he was even a minute late, Steve would storm the streets and ruin everything.   
  
All of his men were waiting at an Allied friendly bar, sipping on beer as he slipped quietly through the door. Peggy was waiting for him at the bar.   
  
She pretended to sip her tonic. “Situation report?”   
  
“Plain sailing,” he replied, hooking his arm in hers once again. “You?”   
  
To that, she simply raised her glass.

  
  
*****

  
  
“Dum Dum never looked at me the same way again.” Bucky laughed so deeply that he grabbed his belly. “Gabe said my hips gave me away but apparently Dugan likes a straight woman.”   
  
Natasha tapped her chin, long enough to draw the attention of six eyes to her face. “How is this not ‘classified’?” she asked.   
  
“Because uh, it’s not real?” Steve answered. Bucky balked at the accusation.   
  
“Oh, come on!” Sam threw his hands in the air. “No way he just made some shit up like that on the spot.”   
  
“Well, I am an excellent liar,” Bucky said.   
  
“You’re a horrible liar, the actual worst liar ever,” Sam argued.   
  
Steve stood up, gathering the wine glasses and trash from around them. “Honestly. You think something that unbelievably ridiculous actually happened?”   
  
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Without a doubt.”   
  
“What ever happened to Èdith?” Sam asked.   
  
Bucky tsked. “Nuh-uh-uh, a lady never tells. Who wants more wine?”   
  
Like the good Russian she was once, Natasha said, “Vodka.”   
  
“Y’all have fun with that. I’ll be the good friend and help Steve clean up.” Sam cleared his throat. Loudly. “As usual.”

  
  
*****

  
  
The walk from one place to another wasn’t a long one. Natasha and Steve were rarely far apart.  City to city and country to country they went together, with nothing to call home but the companionship they shared. She possessed a fierce protectiveness of Steve that Bucky once envied, then came to respect and appreciate.    
  
A metal cigarette case clinked open. Bucky could smell tobacco even before the little white stick was thrust in his face. “Cigarette for your thoughts?” She asked innocently.   
  
Bucky placed it between his lips and let her light it for him without protest. “You know I don’t smoke,” he said, even as he let the sweet tobacco burn into his lungs.   
  
“Yes, well. Neither do I.” She slipped the case and lighter into her bag. “So, who should I believe...you or Steve?”   
  
“Steve. No, wait. Me. Always me.”   
  
“Was it a true story?”   
  
“Mostly.”   
  
Natasha blinked. “Mostly?”   
  
“I didn’t fuck the governor.”   
  
“You didn’t say you fucked the governor.”   
  
“Ah.” Bucky exhaled a large trail of smoke. “Then yes, it was true.”   
  
She hmphed. “Did you see his face every time you mentioned Peggy’s boobs?”   
  
“I didn’t have to see it to know what he looked like.”   
  
“So. You. Steve. Peggy. You all were -”   
  
“Complicated.” Bucky flicked his cigarette to the ground, then thought better of it. He snuffed it out and deposited the butt in his pocket until he passed a trash can. “It’s complicated.”   
  
“Was, you mean?”   
  
Bucky gave her a sly look. “I said what I said.”   
  
Truth was, “complicated” remained a good description for most things with any sort of emotional link to Bucky’s past. And that was okay. Complicated was better than nothing at all.   
  
“Come along,  _ Красавица _ ,” Natasha teased, grabbing Bucky by the arm. “I have a new Urban Decay palette I want to try on you.”   
  
“Convenient timing.”   
  
Natasha smiled. “Trust me. It’ll look gorgeous with your eyes.”

  
  
*****

  
  
Bucky’s heart pounded in his ears as he re-entered the home he and Steve shared later that night. He could hold his vodka as well as the next bastardized superhero, but still. He’d had enough to walk a little funny.   
  
Or maybe it wasn’t the vodka. Could have been the tightly fitted sweater-dress in a raucous mustard yellow that was not doing his complexion  _ any _ favors.   
  
It was probably the dress.   
  
Steve glanced up from his tablet as Bucky strolled into their bedroom, a bemused look on his face. “Yellow’s not your color.”   
  
Bucky kicked off his boots and tossed his leather jacket into the closet. “It’s not her color either, why do you think she sent me home in it?”   
  
“The red.” Steve gently tapped his own lips. “Is nice.”   
  
“Yeah?” Stopping in front of the mirror atop their dresser drawers, Bucky touched his mouth. Pushed a lock of hair behind his ear and maybe pouted just a little. “Yeah. It is.”   
  
Steve spoke with an air of casualness that Bucky knew was complete bullshit. The guy just wanted to talk. About the story. “I just don’t understand what you have against sweet little old Edith,” he said.   
  
“She over-charges me for my copay every month.” Bucky placed a hand on his hip. “Every month, Steve.”   
  
“And people call  _ me _ dramatic.”   
  
“You are.” Bucky snatched the tablet from Steve’s hands and dropped it on the nightstand. Steve huffed, further proving the point. “See? Drama queen.”   
  
Steve eyed Bucky from his eyes to his toes and back again. “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”   
  
“Whatcha tryin’ to say?” As Bucky moved to punch Steve in the shoulder, a hand larger than his own stopped his fist in the air. Within seconds he was in Steve’s lap, the ugly yellow dress stretched uncomfortably against his thighs.   
  
“I was going to say you really went all out with the details tonight. Surprised you didn’t fuck...what was his name again?”   
  
“Cholitz,” Bucky reminded him.   
  
Completely uninterested in the conversation now that he had a warm body in his lap, Steve replied dully. “Ah, yes. Cholitz.”   
  
Bucky wondered if Natasha knew what her dress and outrageously expensive makeup would do to the normally reserved Steve Rogers. Sure, he was outspoken about some things but never… _ these things _ . Only with Bucky. It sent a chill up his spine to think that there were so many secrets that someone saved just for him.   
  
What thrilled him the most, maybe, was how between a warm hand on a shoulder and a cold knife in the back, they found a balance in their love for the unconventional. Why waste an opportunity like being granted a second chance at life? They could be as filthy - as taboo - as they wanted when they were alone now. And nobody could or would do anything to stop them.   
  
Not that they could stop them if they tried.   
  
“You’re still the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen,” Steve teased, the look in his eyes betraying his words. He smeared a streak of lipstick from Bucky’s lips to his stubbled chin. “I should have fucked you that night in...Paris? Yes, Paris.”   
  
“I’m far too classy for that, you scoundrel.” Even as he defended his own honor, Bucky straddled Steve’s legs, grinding his hips as strong hands slid up his skirt.   
  
“You would have spread for me like a French whore,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s lips. Taunting him. “Tell me you wouldn’t have.”   
  
“Yes,” Bucky gasped. “God, I would have.”   
  
Steve nipped at Bucky’s jaw. “You will tonight, too. I’ve been thinking about that pussy all day.”   
  
Something in his gut tightened. It was a game, that’s all, but still. Pure filth coming out of Steve’s mouth was enough to make any man, woman, and everything in between wet and wanting. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Captain.”   
  
Steve licked his lips. “You like my mouth? Wait ‘till you see what else I’ve got, baby girl.”   
  
“I shouldn’t. I’m...”   
  
“You’re what?”   
  
Bucky bit his lip to keep from laughing, then answered as seriously as possible. “I’m not on birth control.”   
  
Unlike Bucky, Steve actually did laugh, low and almost sinister. Then he gripped Bucky by the waist, tossing him on the bed on his stomach. “It’s okay,” he said, pressing his chest into Bucky’s back. “You’ve got another hole.”   
  
One of these days, Bucky would give as good as he got, see what it took to make that bastard crumble and melt into a puddle. He’d find the words, tell him he wanted to fuck Steve’s tits, come on his face, and call him his whore just like Bucky likes. But he never could find the words. The best he could do was ruin yet another pair of sheets, writhing and biting at the bed until he was filled so deeply he could do nothing but giggle.   
  
Yes, the Winter Soldier giggled; especially when he was being fucked so hard that his body ceased to exist on the same plane as his mind. His body tensed as his mind floated with ease, thinking up new possibilities. What would be the next story that they told each other? Would it be real or fake or somewhere in-between? And would they ever break away from their original source material?   
  
The Twins, of course.   
  
Steve had told the story first, one night when Bucky wore his hair long and loose, with waves framing his face. London, Steve told him. Seeking information on Luftwaffe bombers, trying to prevent another Blitz. Bucky didn’t remember it, but the tale sparked something in him. It brought him back to life.   
  
The next week, Bucky told it to Steve. Rome, the Allied invasion. “We’ve never been to Rome,” Steve told him, after. They were a sticky mess of sweat and cum, lying on a rented cassock from which they’d never get the deposit back. And they were  _ happy. _   
  
Bucky’s reply was simple. “Well, now we have.”   
  
See, the best part of the story of The Twins? It’s been told a dozen times with many names and places, but never the same way twice.   
  
But the outcome of the story.  _ That  _ was always the same.

**Author's Note:**

> shenanigans and shitposts on [tumblr](http://anthonystan.tumblr.com)


End file.
